NIGHT.
He roves no more in gamesome glee,
But hangs his weary head;
And loiters beside the mother's knee,
To ask his lowly bed.
But hangs his weary head;
And loiters beside the mother's knee,
To ask his lowly bed.
The butterflies fold their wings of gold,
The dew falls chill in the bower;
The cattle wait at the kineyard gate,
The bee hath forsaken the flower:
The dew falls chill in the bower;
The cattle wait at the kineyard gate,
The bee hath forsaken the flower:
The roar of the city is dying fast,
Its tongues no longer thrill;
The hurrying tread is faint at last,
The artisan's hammer is still.
Its tongues no longer thrill;
The hurrying tread is faint at last,
The artisan's hammer is still.
Night steals apace she rules supreme;
A hallow'd calm is shed:
No footstep breaks, no whisper wakes—
'Tis the silence of the dead.
A hallow'd calm is shed:
No footstep breaks, no whisper wakes—
'Tis the silence of the dead.
The hollow bay of a distant dog
Bids drowsy Echo start;
The chiming hour, from an old church tower,
Strikes fearfully on the heart.
Bids drowsy Echo start;
The chiming hour, from an old church tower,
Strikes fearfully on the heart.
All spirits are bound in slumber sound,
Save those o'er a death-bed weeping;
Or the soldier one that paces alone,
His guard by the watch-fire keeping.
Save those o'er a death-bed weeping;
Or the soldier one that paces alone,
His guard by the watch-fire keeping.
With ebon wand and sable robe,
How beautiful, Night, art thou!
Serenely set on a throne of jet,
With stars about thy brow.
How beautiful, Night, art thou!
Serenely set on a throne of jet,
With stars about thy brow.
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